


Some Kind of Light

by genee



Series: Neon [4]
Category: Popslash, Supernatural
Genre: Dr. K., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-13
Updated: 2007-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:38:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When Dean turns up again in December, alone, he sits in Chris's office for almost an hour before he says he can't talk to Sam about this, before he says he's scared.</i>
</p><p>Technically, this is set in the same 'verse as the Neon series, but it's an ENTIRELY standalone piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Kind of Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [topaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/gifts).



> Technically, this is set in the same 'verse as the Neon series, but it's an ENTIRELY standalone piece.

Chris's New York office is one of his favorite places, the top floor of an old brownstone with lots of windows, a city garden in the back his neighbors coax tomatoes from in the summer, basil and hot peppers and last year there were some knotty looking orange things Lance swore were carrots, although Chris was pretty sure he was making that up. Lance made shit up all the time, it was half the reason Chris loved him, and he knew stuff about gardening, too, but Chris was pretty sure carrots weren't supposed to look like that. Chris thinks the garden is half the reason Lance picked this place; he likes the idea of it, likes to get his hands dirty, visiting with the neighbors when Chris is running late.

Chris runs late more often than he should.

So, now he has an office that isn't where he lives, and Lance drops by for lunch sometimes and sometimes they walked home together in the evenings, and it's nice in ways Chris had never really thought about before. It isn't Orlando, and it isn't LA, and they spend more on rent than Chris is entirely comfortable with, but it's not like they can't afford it. Besides, Lance was right, a home office isn't really an option here, no matter what Chris thought at first.

It's the garden that wins him over, finally, his neighbors' dedication to it, the way it seems to draw everyone in. Nick never leaves without pausing at the gate, running his fingers over the leaves of whatever's growing there, smiling at nothing. Gerard likes the sunflowers, will linger after his appointments and listen to Mr. Smolinsky's stories about the old days on the job, will let his fingers brush over the hilt of his weapon, both of them looking up at the sky and shaking their heads. Sam and Dean hang chimes off the post in the northwest corner, come back to seed wind flowers in the dead of night.

When Dean turns up again in December, alone, he sits in Chris's office for almost an hour before he says he can't talk to Sam about this, before he says he's scared. Dean's seen things Chris can't even imagine, faces down demons and digs up dead people and for a minute Chris isn't sure he wants to know anything about whatever it is that scares Dean Winchester, but then Dean swallows hard and looks out the window, and Chris sees the empty space beside him and realizes he already knows. He knows enough, anyway.

Whatever this is, it's about Sam.

"Take care, Doc," Dean says when he leaves, his hands in his pockets, his eyes too bright. Dean looks like his father in ways Chris can't really explain. "Sam asks you, you have no idea."

Chris watches him bury something beneath the last of the kale, and Chris knows it's some sort of knife without ever being told, icy sunlight glinting off the blade long after Dean's gone. He isn't at all surprised to find Sam on the front steps in the morning, looking pale and fierce and like he hasn't eaten in three days, and Chris spent too many winters freezing his ass off and talking himself out of being hungry not to recognize the signs. Sam talks over breakfast, mainlines sugared coffee and talks and talks, and even though Sam says everything Dean didn't actually use words for, the only thing he wants to know in return isn't something Chris can tell him.

He sits in Chris's office just like his brother did, his hands folded, his elbows on his knees. "Dean's not thinking straight," Sam says. "I need to find him."

There's something about Sam that's dangerous, not like Dean, not in an obvious way. More like an abandoned puppy, sweet and soft and entirely unpredictable, and Chris wishes there was more he could do. "How can I help?"

"I don't--" Sam starts, getting up to look out the window, fingers absently running over the wood. He sniffs his fingers, cocks his head to the side. Chris slips some cash into Sam's coat pocket while his back is turned. "He leave anything behind? A key, a note?"

"Not exactly," Chris says, and Sam thumbs the window lock, bangs the wood lightly with the side of his hand. The window opens easily, and Chris watches Sam's face light up, a matchbook Dean must've left there the day before between his fingers. "Huh."

"It's a thing," Sam says, flicking at the cover. There's a number inside, obviously, and Chris hopes it's actually Dean's. It could just as easily be someone else's, a hot blond Dean picked up a few bars ago, a redhead with a killer rack. "Like, a message," he says. "We've been doing it since we were kids."

Chris ignores everything he learned back in school and raises an eyebrow, smirks a little. "Yeah, okay," he says. "How about telling me something I don't know?"

Sam laughs then, smacks Chris's shoulder and grabs his coat. "You ever need anything, Doc," Sam says, and Chris nods, says he knows how to reach them.

He watches Sam from the window, his chin tucked into his collar and his hair caught up in the wind. He doesn't stop at the gate, doesn't so much as glance at the spot where Dean knelt in the frozen dirt and carved out a hole Chris probably isn't supposed to know about. Chris thinks it's deliberate, wonders how soon they'll be back, if he'll see them, if they'll just take what's theirs from the garden and move on before it's light. He hopes they'll be together.

Chris's phone rings in his pocket, and he knows it's Lance reminding him he was supposed to pick up _one file_ and come _right back_. It's Saturday, and it's almost Christmas, and they have Things To Do. Lance loves Christmas, and Chris loves Lance. He smiles into the receiver, says, "I will blow you in your favorite fancy store if you don't tell me how late I am right now."

"Deal," Lance says, laughing. "See you in ten?"

"You bet." Chris re-locks on the window Sam opened, wonders how he knew right where to look. He opens the next window over, finds an old spider web, a crumbed leaf. "Make it twenty and I swear on all that's holy, I'll make it worth your wait."

 

 

\-- End --


End file.
